


Love is... stepping up when need be.

by Catherine_Morland



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Community: sherlockbbc_fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-12
Updated: 2010-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-11 01:38:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherine_Morland/pseuds/Catherine_Morland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John always like to see Sherlock work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is... stepping up when need be.

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/575.html?thread=616767#t616767) at sherlockbbc-fic:
> 
> At a crime scene, for whatever reason, John grabs Sherlock and gives him a hard, hot, dominate, possessive kiss that turns Sherlock into a whimpering, weak, stupidly-smiling, gooey blob of aw shucks right in front of Lestrade &amp; Friends.
> 
> Then Sherlock composes himself and tells the police why they are all idiots. Because Sherlock may be John Watson's bitch, but he's still smarter than you.

John always likes to see Sherlock work. It's frustrating as hell at times to not be able to see things the same ways he does, but even at his most manic Sherlock seems to exude a competence that eases John's mind. Sometimes all can be explained, put neatly into boxes which can be shelved for posterity. In the utter chaos that his life has become since he met Sherlock it's a knowledge that gets him through the night.

Of course, there's the days when Sherlock's prancing around, coat flapping and arms waving and grinning like a loon that's been dropped on its head repeatedly because he knows, he knows and god people are so stupid why can't they see it like him, and that knowledge seems a long way off. Still, John can't keep himself from smiling at his friend's antics, as much as they seem to annoy the cops standing around them, waiting for Sherlock to piss off so they can get to work.

But it's especially the first stages, when Sherlock is deeply concentrating on deducting the early facts, poking (around) the body (if there is one) and the crime-scene with a look of intense focus on his face. Those are the times John loves to watch him, despite the frustrations and occasional anger. If he's being honest with himself – and these days he tends to be, because Sherlock will tell him what he's thinking anyway, at great length if need be, and John does prefer to have some advantage when it comes to his own mind – it's the really the expression on Sherlock's face. That look of intense scrutiny, which gets employed from determining what brand of cigarettes the killer smoked to figuring out what he can get away with in bed. Being subjected to that gaze never fails to fan John's desire, even when not actually in the act of shagging Sherlock.

Today is no exception. The case as presented sounded interesting enough to get Sherlock out of the house and to get John to forget his tiredness – too many long nights with too little sleep do tend to exhaust a man – and here they are again, surrounded by cops and forensics, who're watching Sherlock hunched over vague marks on the floor. John finds himself standing next to Lestrade, who's looking cranky and tired.

"He's cheery this morning," Lestrade huffs.

"Yeah well, I guess his experiments are going well," John says. They watch Sherlock flit about, examining the walls and the table and leaving the room. Without needing to be told Donovan follows him, to keep an eye on him. Last time Sherlock pissed off the suspect so much he was inches away from being flung down off a balcony. Thirteen floors up. John shakes his head to himself. Of all people he has to be living with it just has to be someone who has all the social grace of a concussed rock.

"You're smiling," Lestrade says. He's looking askance at John. "It's too early for cheerfulness."

Smiling, huh, so he is. He weighs saying it's because he's getting laid, but that's not anyone's business, is it? "Had a good breakfast," he says, instead. He wishes he'd had breakfast, period. There hadn't been enough time that morning.

Sherlock flits back in, Donovan hard on his trail. "Freak's made the woman cry," she says, rolling her eyes at Lestrade. Sherlock's face has gone impassive, in that 'I can't hear you, now shut up already'-look everybody knows by now. It doesn't suit him, it never has. "She's already distressed, and you've gone and made it worse. Went and asked her about her hols, and some other claptrap. What was that all about?" Donovan can't see the look, though she must know it's there.

"You've really become stupid now that you're fighting with your partner," Sherlock says.

Donovan gapes. "How would you know that?"

Sherlock sighs. "Please give me some credit for having a brain, Sgt. Donovan. Your shirt is crumpled, and your skirt stained. You dressed in a hurry this morning. Your eyes are red, which means crying."

She huffs. "What would you know about having a relationship? Who'd want to sleep with you?"

Sherlock doesn't answer her. He just glares, bundles himself up closer in his coat, and holds himself straight.

John watches him, not sure what to do. Were they back at the flat, it wouldn't have been a problem, but now? They've never come out in any way, haven't even talked about it. There's the two of them against the world, it feels like, and what they get up to in private doesn't matter, does it? Maybe it does now, John thinks, as he watches Sherlock resume the investigation. After all, it's a good bet Mycroft knows; John doesn't put it past him to have bugged the flat.

Donovan smirks. That makes it easy to walk away from Lestrade, cross the remaining distance over to Sherlock, and to stop next to him. Sherlock looks at him, opening his mouth to speak. Not that, not right now. John reaches up, one hand behind Sherlock's head, and he kisses him. His other settles on Sherlock's arse, fingers digging in, holding him close, holding him very close. Sherlock is startled for a moment, but he returns the kiss. John's hand tangles in Sherlock's curls, tilting his head, deepening the kiss. Sherlock's arms come up around John, and it feels good, it feels natural, who cares about the others? He feels Sherlock buckle slightly, as he always does when John takes the initiative. He bites Sherlock's lip in response hard enough to leave a mark. They stand wrapped up in each other long enough for John to almost have forgotten they're not alone. Until he hears some frantic coughing coming from behind him.

"Touching, very. Now, can we please get on with this?" Lestrade asks. John turns his head and glares at him, but the DI doesn't take notice at that. He feels Sherlock's hand on his cheek, turning back his face. He's smiling, not his 'I had a brilliant idea!-smile, or his 'Bravo, you're just about managing to come within a thousand light-years to my own intellect'-smile. It's a big dopey grin that would make John worry if he didn't know that Sherlock's not using anything. He returns it, then steps away. No-one talks to him, but that's all right. There's nothing to say, is there?

Donovan's mouth is hanging open. Sherlock smirks at her. "Josiah Amberley has been killed, by his wife, who's trying to pin it on Amberley's friend, Ernest." He looks at them, then sighs. "Oh ye of little brains." And he launches into an explanation which involves chess-boards and the Amberleys' having gone on holiday and frozen fish for no reason John can place even when Sherlock's done. It doesn't matter. It's still brilliant. He remembers Sherlock's reaction to the public kiss. At least it saves them having to tell people, and John grins to himself.


End file.
